Last week, we came to the difficult decision that we would not pursue IVF. My chances were quoted at a puny 10% or so, and it didn't seem to make sense, because our chances "on our own" are not that much less, though hard to quantify. (To say nothing of the over e4,000 a throw). I presume I have the same chance as any healthy post 40 year old woman, now, post-lap & cystectomy. He was very disappointed and saddened by the slenderness of our chances.
So I could see where he was coming from yesterday morning he woke me up (BAD timing. 4 years of cohabitation have taught him nothing.) with the bright suggestion that egg donation might be the solution to all our problems. Marvellous! Eggs! Stick them in and hey presto! And when I started trying to put the brakes on, he had an answer for everything, and it was like our decision on how to have our family was more about who won this legalistic debate, than a question of arriving at a decision together, with our welfare as a family at the centre of it.
This made me resentful and inclined to tell him to feck off, and the whole thing escalated to the point where I said I might go away to stay with my friend in Carlow for a couple of days so I could calm down, and he kept saying, sadly, if you move out, that could be the end of us. I never said move out. ARGGGGGG! [Tearing out of hair. Sighing.]
A melodramatic rhino, did I mention?
Lucky he's pretty, as I often tell him. (Aside: Have completely lost faith in BMI system. The JB who goes to the gym three days a week and is the fittest person I know (if a little overfond of fried pig products), is 26.1 and should lose half a stone (7 pounds)? EH? He did his medical yesterday. They don't take into account someone's build or fat/muscle ratio at all. It's looney).
It took a lot of backtracking and rethinking and making of great efforts to understand to get back here, to where I can say when I am ready, we can think about that. Not before and never because I think it is a choice between that and our marriage.
Last night was surprisingly okay. Neither of us likes conflict and by default we are fairly buoyant - almost despite myself, I can feel the old spirits bobbing cork-like up to the surface again, and the old optimism re-emerging. There were lots of apologies and gentleness, and the quiet companionable watching of rubbish TV. There was the JB and there was Twangy, and the idea of our not being together began to seem ridiculous.
I'm afraid Smokey has taken a back seat for the moment, my home life having become a full-time job. Normal
service will be restored asap. I want to clean up the gallop cycle and maybe make a storyboard for the sequence.
Your opinion will be sought, as ever.
Till then, friends, I remain,